


Address to the Council of Counts

by RGmolpus



Series: Innocent Bystanders [9]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, boilover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24497035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RGmolpus/pseuds/RGmolpus
Summary: C'mon, Gregor - Tell us what you really think!
Series: Innocent Bystanders [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1305179
Comments: 32
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gwynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwynne/gifts).
  * Inspired by [After the Ball](https://archiveofourown.org/works/124850) by [Gwynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwynne/pseuds/Gwynne). 
  * Inspired by [Another Innocent Bystander](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13569879) by [Rose_Milburn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_Milburn/pseuds/Rose_Milburn). 
  * Inspired by [Long have I waited](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23303002) by [Rose_Milburn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_Milburn/pseuds/Rose_Milburn). 
  * Inspired by [Rediscovery](https://archiveofourown.org/works/402371) by [ScottWashburn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottWashburn/pseuds/ScottWashburn). 
  * Inspired by [Operation Camp Stool](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832371) by [Zoya1416](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416). 
  * Inspired by [peace and quiet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8888065) by [alessandriana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandriana/pseuds/alessandriana). 
  * Inspired by [Hydra-Headed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/107543) by [Glishara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glishara/pseuds/Glishara). 
  * Inspired by [Lost and Found](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476458) by [Gwynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwynne/pseuds/Gwynne). 
  * Inspired by [Dirty Laundry on the line](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638232) by [RGmolpus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RGmolpus/pseuds/RGmolpus). 



It took the chamber a serious period to quiet. Emperor Gregor Vorbarra sat patiently on his military regulation field stool, rereading the flimsies he had drawn from a small case. Count Miles Vorkosigan had a general idea of the content of the speech, as did Counts Voralys, Vorhalas, and Vorrutyer. The room quieted, as the Counts assembled and the visitors in the gallery ended their quiet asides. The doors of the chamber were blocked by members of the guard regiment of Vorhartung Castle; in full dress uniforms; and fully charged plasma pistols and nerve disruptors. All but one Minister was present; he was in another district, watching the proceedings on a special vid feed. 

Gregor put down the flimsies, and slowly observed the room. He made a small gesture to the Guardian of the Circle, who nodded and rapped his spear thrice on the striker block at his side.

The harsh knocks echoed and ate all the sound in the chamber; Gregor rose from his camp stool and cast his eyes to survey of the room.

"My fellow Counts, Ministers, and special guests, I welcome you. This is a special convocation, special and critical. In the last four years, there have been five conspiracies of the highest treason possible revealed in this Empire: An attempt to spread a virulent poison in this city, and in others, to destroy the structure of this state, to allow a Count and his cronies to separate themselves and become independent. Another was a plan, originating here on Barrayar, but supported by foreign organizations to assassinate me, to place a pretender on the camp stool, to the ultimate benefit of the sponsoring organizations. A third was created by a group of disaffected on the South Continent; who depended on a spurious theory of descent to attempt to create a new aristocracy. They, at last, led to the decision by me to begin a process of extending political representation to all the places and planets of this Empire. Another treason against me and mine was scuppered by the heroic and honorable acts of a single woman, who detected the conspiracy, and brought the evidence to me directly, restoring her family's besmirched honor. 

Gregor stopped here, and gave a half-bow to a woman in the upper reaches of the visitors gallery. 

And now another - the kidnapping of my children - here the chamber became a dead space for sound - MY CHILDREN! Taken by a group that sought to force the approval of a bill before this chamber.

The guilty parties of that were walked directly from their jail cells to the posts set in the parade ground established in the earth by Emperor-Prince Xav himself, during his campaigns to unify this colony into one unified community during our dark and bloody centuries. Three Vor are standing their long, terminal vigils at these posts; to spend those hours contemplating their folly. Three others, not Vor, were executed this afternoon. Their bodies will be cremated soon, and mixed with potting soil to replenish flower beds in the National Cemetery. In death, they will bring a bit of beauty to this place.

I'm pissed.

Deeply, deeply, deeply pissed.

And everyone here will aid me in recovering my normal calm, placid attitude.

As I look at the past years, and I study the cases that came to me, I noted that a common thread was that second - or third - sons and daughters try to speed their future. They don't want to wait for their fathers or grandfathers to expire. Sometimes it's the sound of a uterine replicator opening, adding a new, unexpected, competitor to the race to a seat in this chamber. 

It really sucks when a new, bouncy-bouncy baby boy gets plopped in your planned path to the Countship.

Especially when you've been taking out loans and making promises that suddenly can't be kept.

Damn'd annoying, that.

There was the Count that overdrew himself from his District. His plan to avoid bankruptcy was to buy some bio-toxins from his friend in the nexus, have his younger son high-grade a few grenades, and make me spend money on a new statue of Dorca in the great square. This was an irritating, emotionally disruptive event. 

He didn't enjoy becoming on the receiving end of one of the grenades he stole.

Now, his family - what remains of it, are breaking ground and grubbing weeds on Sergyar. Regent Vorkosigan says they are doing well, and they're an asset to the colony.

The latest annoyance came from the South Continent. Someone spent to much time reading Vorrutyer's peerage, and not enough with "Common Sense: An idiot's guide".

That has been ended in a definitive way for the man who thought himself emperor. The people who supported him, and were making the plans, are now digging drainage ditches and making bread for the common mess at a prison. I hope they aren't causing to many of their fellow prisoners indigestion.

Now, some prolekins, lacking in brains to a level that would embarrass a moron, have had five Imperial auditors make a house call.

Five Auditors.

Yes, get out the best china and those thin sugar cookies, Matilda.

Didn't help.

This has to stop.

Dead in its tracks.

The Vorbarra family was given the charge to lead this State; I'm the one who swore, when I came into my maturity, that I'd do my damn'dness to lead and guide this place into the future. 

Looking at the people who've tried to replace me, none of them could really charge that I'm incompetent. The economy is booming, land is available for those who want it. Trade within and without is growing. Our military is respected - and appreciated! by most of the nexus. The Komarran trade fleets actively want Barrayaran escorts; pirates hesitate to interfere with them. Anyone who wants to claim I'm incompetent has only to come here and convince fifty Counts of my incapacity. Good luck at that. 

But... there are people chained to posts in the Great Square. 

Too many people over the last years have been on those posts. 

Quietly, some criminals have been sent to Beta Colony for examination and treatment - Betan treatment for criminal behavior. The reports from Beta reveal that many of the criminals are not psychologically disturbed, by Betan standards; they aren't sociopaths or psychopaths, who live only to satisfy their wishes. Of the limited number who have been examined by the Betan Mental Health board, eighty percent 'took a chance - and failed'. 

Treatment was simple; some therapy to alter their judgement as to what was a good choice, and a bad choice. The majority are now back here, living productive lives.

The remaining twenty percent had real physical problem with their brains; three had tumors: small but critical tumors that interfered with their mental processes. They underwent surgery, and after treatment started thinking straight - as the Betan therapists say.

But the people who committed treason are not similar to the 'ordinary decent criminals' I've described.

Treason, like Murder, isn't an accident. 

Desire, greed, and a flawed imagination are at the root of these cases we've seen.

Idle hands are the Teufel's playground, in an old saying, and idle minds must be even more appealing to the Teufel. Second and third children, without a real purpose in their family, without a guiding purpose - no clear path to their future. My path was in place when I was conceived, but that isn't the matter for most births. 

So, I see two problems.

One:

Too much of the empire is unseen by this, the governing council of the Empire. The South Continent, much of the western coast, Komarr, and Sergyar. Komarr has some - only a few! - delegates who can observe and be available for conferencing, but they barely count... to make a minor pun.

Two: 

Entitled children who can't imagine a future for themselves; except as hangers-on and leeches to their families. This is a historic problem, existing before Shakespeare wrote his plays. What is a disfavored son to do?

I place before you, My Counts, a question: can both problems have the same solution?

I want to add the South Continent, Komarr, and Sergyar into the public governance of the empire. Land will be made available for development in all three new area; Komarr could use another Dome, with a new spaceport; in a seismically safe area. 

I propose that these newly distributed land will be collected into 'Dominions', to use an old term, and those 'Dominions' will have direct represented in this chamber. The details on this will have to be hashed out in here, but the major decision is, ultimately, mine as Emperor. Count Vorbarra will have his opinion, and will express it - in this he won't be silent, as he often is - but this is the barn-burner question of this age.

If you - my Counts - can't create a method of adding members to this council, be certain I will....so get cracking. The wine cellar and pantries of this castle are bulging; the infirmary is stocked with ulcer medicines and hangover cures.... and room 3B12 is always available for conferences.

These new Dominions will need administrative staff - where better to stash relatives than in a government bureaucracy? Nepotism isn't a flaw - for us, it's been a cherished tradition. Think of the organizations that really run your district; multiply that by a double dozen - and count the number of relatives who need a job...

The solution to both these problems is obvious.

The competence of those relatives is a separate matter; those who aren't able to scrawl their name, even in crayon, can plant flowers. 

An additional bonus is that they'll be far, far away from your homes. 

It does a person good to be on their own, responsible for their own fate, but not lost, with support learning a skill and doing honest work.

That first paycheck... that first pile of marks in hand, a solid representation of what's been done... the first money I made, ever, was ten marks paid by old Count Piotr Vorkosigan after I spent two days shoveling out his stables. 

The bills and coins had my face on them; I've never enjoyed looking at my face so much.

If all those excess persons have a real possibility to advance, by honorable work, I think most of the recent incidents of Treason will not repeat themselves. 

Which brings me to a new topic.

This stool.

(He picks up the Camp Stool)

This is the symbol of the Empire; made hallow by the long, violent efforts of my ancestor, Dorca Vorbarra. He finished the long struggle to unify this planet, waging war on all who would not kneel and accept his governance. 

He was a son of a bitch in his day; accompanied by two others who equaled him in sumbitchery: Count Pierre "Le Sanguinaire" Vorrutyer, and the Count the General Leo Vorkraft. 

Those three finished that long, arduous campaign; they created our unified realm. It wasn't easy, it wasn't fun, it wasn't sanitary and clean, as the histories make it to be.

But they did it.

And then - Dorca took on a greater, harder, impossible task.

He had an Empire - but how to actually -RUN- the thing?

From the records I studied, he spent more hours at his desk, once the last set of hands was offered to him, than he spent on this camp stool. In a letter to Pierre Vorrutyer, he laments that "Give me a rebelling Count any day - I can shoot the sumabitch. But this paperwork the clerks hand me! I could be crushed in an instant!"

Then consider the additional troubles he had when we were discovered. Suddenly, he had to introduce himself to the Nexus, and create methods and ways to govern trade with the greater universe.

The yearly budget didn't have time to whimper as it incinerated.

The Cetagandan invasion brought its own troubles. 

'Nuff said.

My cousin, Count Ivan Vorpatril Voralys once said to me, "Everyone wants your campstool, nobody wants your inbox." This, from a man who managed the inbox for our most senior Admiral!

Let this be a lesson to any who want to supplant me - You may want to sit on this stool; you also will get my desk chair and inbox. 

All will drive you into agony.

So - my advice - you don't want my inbox. Those among you, Counts, and Ministers both - do you want _MORE_ piles of papers and flimsies to be waiting for you every morning?

If you do.... Merde! Show up, any morning you wish, and you can sit with me as I sort thru the goat dung that gets shoveled in every morning. I have a staff of ten to sort thru and settle most of what arrives, and I get the worst of the remainder: the stuff that can't be sent somewhere else, or returned its sender. 

The troika stops at my desk: and the horses make their comments on the trip.

So, come share my daily routine with me - and then reconsider your plans to supplant me.

If you just want me removed: for a possibly more 'malleable' replacement, consider who might, by birthright, be my replacement.

And consider who will be displeased by my demise.

If anyone is thinking 'This is a good time to off the Emperor' - It's not. If I get whacked; you'll then be facing House Vorkosigan, House Vorhalas, House Voralys, House Vorpatril, House Vorinnis, House Vordarian, House Vorbohn, House Vorrutyer ... and Mark Vorkosigan.

At a minimum.

Consider who the parents of my wife will hire.

Eventually, you'll be facing Lady Alys Vorpatril Vorillyan - and Regent and Countess Captain Cordelia Vorkosigan (Beta Survey, Retired).

Diplomatic relations with Emperor Giaja will be - strained.

Just - don't.

(Did I forget Simon Vorillyan? I shouldn't.)

Some people are so stupid they don't imagine a future where people respond to their acts in ways they don't imagine. People like that start wars - and then scream 'But I'm Invincible!' as their fortress is consumed in flames (Captain Vortalon, Season Seven, end of episode twelve).

I caution everyone here not to be like that 'Imperial Monarch'. 

Dumbass twit. Didn't know how to decorate a throne room, anyway. And those uniforms! Gah!

So - You want this? (waves the camp stool at the audience) Consider what you get with it. Days, week months - Years! of backache. A constant desire to order executions - and you can't. The PITA who triggers those feelings is, you know, honest in his opinion. Ninety-Nine percent of the people who bring me problems are serious and honest about their problem they tow in; the problem is real, and needs a real solution.

For those in the gallery who came by invitation, but reluctantly, - No matter what your political theories offer, there will always be someone who has to decide the hard, persistent problems. Someone has to create, then administer the Government Budget. Someone has to make the hard calls.... without creating additional problems. 

For all the cloud cuckoo land theories of political and economic scientists, none of them really understood the minutia of Governance. 

Not-a-One. 

Those theories require a super-human deity to make their systems work, someone with perfect, exact knowledge at all times. This 'Person' may be one man, or a select committee, but the theory requires they know more than can be known. 

Every government scuttles from one emergency to another. Budgets, lovingly hand crafted, and beautiful, go out the window after a storm rips thru this years' wheat crop. The failure of a dam, in an important watershed - and there goes a few million marks that wasn't budgeted; and to get them, something else (usually lots of things) doesn't get funded - this year.

Expand that across three planets, and thousands of military and civil ships and stations... theory doesn't work. Scrambling like heck does.

You want this? Consider what you get _with_ it.

(The lights in the chamber have been dimming through Gregor's speech, with the main dais remaining lit by a single spotlight.)

(Gregor places the camp stool down, then leaves the dais. A single spotlight shines down on the stool, the rest of the chamber is in darkness.)


	2. Tears from your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregor, after the speech.

In the conference room reserved for the emperor, Gregor Vorbarra sat alone, with elbows on his knees, and his hands holding his face. He sat, silently; eyes shut. 

Gerard, his oldest confidant and Armsman, stood watch at the door; managing the other guards silently, using his wristcom and datapad. He constantly refused to allow anyone entrance to the room; preserving Gregor's solitude.

He read one message that came; and signaled to allow entrance - Laisa, Gregor's wife. She slid into the room through the barely open door. Stopping to arrange her skirt, and judge the situation.

Gerard nodded to Gregor; who had stayed silent thru Laisa's entrance.

She glided across the room to Gregor, who stayed silent, motionless, as she kneeled next to him. She slid her hands in between his hands and his face, resting her forehead on his. His eyes were closed.

Laisa rocked her forehead against his; gently massaging his cheeks, He slid his hands down, to wrap his fingers around her wrists. 

"You did good" she whispered to him, "You did good."

He raised his head to meet her lips. "Did I?"

"You did. I especially liked the Captain Vortalon bit. Some of what's been happening could have come from that show."

"I didn't know Captain Vortalon got to Komarr."

"It did, We laughed at it every Saturday morning. Those costumes - and those sets!" Laisa pressed another kiss into Gregors' mouth.

Gregor took the kiss, hungry for it. Laisa could feel tension in Gregor's face; his fear.

"You did good."

They held together in silence; Gerard stayed busy with his wristcom and datapad.


	3. Old friends talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the other side of the spotlight, Counts confer.

Count Vormuir waved at Count Vorstaats across the reading room at Patrick's club. Count Vorstaats waved back from the bar, waiting for a stiff double gin and tonic to be delivered. With that in hand, he strolled around the clusters of chair and tables to sit next to Vormuir.

"Hell of a speech from Gregor, what? Burned barns and a haystack or two, he did." commented Vormuir, after he waited for Vorstaats to settle in his favorite overstuffed chair.

"Certainly enough to make one cautious. That boy is maturing nicely, now that he's gotten married and has a few squabs of his own." Vorstaats ended that sentence with a stiff swig of his drink.

"Underneath, I think;" Vormuir frowned; "Underneath is trouble to come. The council is a bit of an old man's club, but expanding it without thought is asking for disaster. The Komarrans; well, they know how to keep things running, adding them in to the mix won't be bad; but incorporating Southies - that's trouble." 

"What's troubling me is what he didn't talk about. Not one mention of the 'foreign influence' behind this kidnapping thing. He's got something in motion, I know it. That runt Vorkosigan was jiggling like a blanc mange. Whenever he does that, we're faced with a bill for ship repairs and medical expenses. I'm not worried about the Southies; that's a matter of making sure the right sons get handed the right districts. May have to shift some offices in the Castle, that's about it. Sergyar isn't close to running on it's own, so that's not a problem." Vorstaats sipped his drink, looking into the ice for some signal from the spirits.

Count Vormuir wasn't known as the sharpest member of the Council; but he was known for his tenacity. "I agree adding a few chairs and tables in the Council chamber won't be a disaster; but that Boy may be starting a new nexus war. We both know he's talking about those pirates on Jackson's Whole; but taking them on would be a disaster - too many others depend on those ruffians for too much. Eliminating them would be a disaster - people may not like them, but when they deal, they keep the deal.

Vorstaats pressed the glass to his forehead. "Expanding the council is a long term action. Won't happen tomorrow, not next year, certainly in five years. Spanking the Wholers is probably in the works... the fleet just mothballed three troop transports, didn't they?"

Recalling the latest fleet motions wrinkles Vormuir's head. "Yes, I think they did. Part of the Fleet upgrade we committed to four years ago; New ships from shipyards here and at Komarr; a jobs program to make those domeheads happy. That spark an idea in your head?"

"Fleet actions mean casualties, and what navy can't use a few more hospital ships. If Gregor and is friends are planning something heavy, they'll bite if we offer to fund a refit of one or two of those transports into hospital ships. Rip out a few bulkheads, add an operating room or two - done cheap and quick. If they jump at the idea, we'll know they are planing something soon. If they don't... then it's more peace for everyone."

"Might not be a bad idea; we can push hard on the Komarran dumplings asking why they can't do it faster and cheaper. Put some pressure on them, see if they can take some fire under their bottoms. Wonderful idea!" Vormuir sat back with a self-satisfied smile.

Vorstaats sat back, satisfied that Vormuir would soon own the idea - and take all the effort of pushing it. He knew the Navy was planning for three new crew support ships; his source in procurement had whispered and winked the latest gossip in Fleet planning. Vormuir would beat the whispergrass, and own the cloud of bumble gnats that would rise in reaction.

Jackson's Whole was a problem, but an opportunity as well. The Nexus needed a place where deals could be made, between everyone, and everybody. They never stayed spanked. They never would.

**Author's Note:**

> Gregor's been getting hammered by people who want his chair; I thought it time for his rebuttal. 
> 
> My thanks to all the people who wrote the stories I drew from; I hope you'll get the kudos you deserve for your stories!
> 
> My thanks to Jane Hotchkiss for her help in taming my grammar.


End file.
